Priorities
by Floralia
Summary: Faced with an annoying little brother, a giant dog monster and money troubles, Dean’s honestly not sure what's stressing him out the most. Until a minor car accident causes him to rethink his priorities.


Summery – Faced with an annoying little brother, a giant dog monster and money troubles, Dean's honestly not sure what's stressing him out the most. Until a minor car accident causes him to rethink his priorities.

Disclaimer - I own nothing.

Huge thanks to my beta Carocali for her multi-coloured help and guidance, and for putting up with my complete inability to decide what I'm actually writing from one week to the next. I had another crack at it after she'd cleaned it up, so any unusually long sentences or misused commas are entirely my fault.

**Priorities**

_Man it's warm under this thing._ Dean tried to ignore the pull of the damp t-shirt clinging to him as he reached over to feel for a wrench. It was hard to focus on the task at hand; he had to wipe his free arm across his forehead to sweep away the sweat obscuring his vision. He cleared his dry throat, shifting a little on the hard ground to avoid the prickling discomfort on the back of his neck. But it would be worth it to get this baby up and running again.

The sound of light footsteps could be heard over the strains of Pearl Jam. He looked to his right to see wisps of flowing white material striding purposefully towards the side of the vehicle.

Dragging himself out from under the car, Dean sat up to find himself staring into the smiling face of Mary Winchester.

"How's it going, honey? You've been out here for hours. I thought you could use some lemonade," she informed him, setting a tray with a pitcher and two glasses on the table next to the garage. "Come. Sit with me for a while. It's about time you had a break."

Dean did not need telling twice. Wiping his hands on an oil stained rag that he tossed aside, he took a seat at the small table opposite his mother. Her smile made his insides squirm in a way not even the deliciously cool liquid could sooth.

She was talking to him about the garden, but Dean didn't really hear her words; could process very little outside of his immediate surroundings. It was the sound of her voice he heard, the lilt of her laugh, and he let his weary body sink back in the chair and soak it up. The sun was on his face, the glass was cool in his grasp, the music played on in the background. The smell of freshly cooked pie was wafting out at him from the open kitchen window.

And his mother's face, beaming and happy and alive, and serving him lemonade.

Dean breathed it all in and let out a sigh of perfection.

He'd closed his eyes for less than a second when an unseen force slammed itself into the back of his chair. The glass fell from his grasp as he flung his arms out to brace himself against the table in front of him.

When he opened his eyes again, his mother was gone. So were the garden, the house, the table, and the lawn chairs. He could no longer smell home cooked food. Pearl Jam was still playing, but it was muted now - not at all the volume Dean would have had it. There was nothing left; everything he had been hoping for was gone.

When Dean's eyes finally finished their darting assessment, the only thing he could see was Sam.

His brother's eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily, his grip on the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were starting to white.

"Sam?"

With a deep breath, Sam reluctantly opened his eyes and turned them sheepishly on his brother. He was practically cringing in his seat, as though he expected Dean to be mad at him, which Dean didn't quite understand. But then he realised his hands were still braced against the dashboard, and they were supporting a lot more of his weight than he could immediately account for. He was sitting down, but he didn't think the surface of his seat was horizontal.

Heart sinking, he forced his eyes away from Sam's pale face and looked out of the windscreen to a horizon of grass and mud. He could see nothing else; not out of his side window either.

Looking up, Dean could see wisps of blue sky out of the driver's side window. This was when that hit him too; he had to look _up_ to see Sam. And not in a 'my kid brother is friggin' taller than me' way, in a 'my side of the car is at the bottom of a freaking ditch and yours isn't' kind of a way.

"Sam?" Dean was only now starting to notice the pain in his head from where it must have banged against the door, and his shoulder throbbed where the seatbelt was digging in. It was supporting more of him than it should have been.

Sam was still watching him with wide eyes; his grip was still painfully tight on the wheel in front of him. It wasn't just his knuckles; his whole hand, everything about Sam was white, and his breathing was shaky.

"Hey. Come on. Let go." Dean leaned forwards and gently pried his brother's hands from the wheel, not likening the way he could see them trembling now they had nothing to grip onto.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam exhaled wobbly, bringing a shaking hand to push his dangling hair out of his face, griping it slightly to regain his composure now that he was no-longer gripping the wheel. "God, I just… yeah. You?" Sam looked concerned now, if not vaguely suspicious.

But Dean was tired. He was cramped and he was frustrated, and he had been wrenched out of an incredibly peaceful dream to find himself nose first in a ditch. He didn't quite have the energy left to spare on figuring out what Sam might be suspicious about.

"Yeah, _I'm_ okay," Dean assured, wincing as he rubbed his aching shoulder, extricating himself from his seatbelt so he could best manoeuvre himself to take in Sam.

They were in a ditch. His _car_ was in a ditch and Sam was being far too quiet about that for his liking, was still shaky and pale.

"It just came at me out of nowhere," Sam breathed in explanation. "God, it just jumped right in front of the car."

"The dog!?" Dean's senses were instantly on the alert. He guessed they were still a good distance from their destination - the campsite that had been the location of most of the attacks - but with that now closed, the area wasn't exactly overpopulated. That this thing might be pushing itself a little further from home on its search for food wasn't exactly out of the question. A beast of that size could no doubt cover a lot of ground if it had the incentive to do so. Having had no-one to snack on in the past two days was probably going to be a hell of an incentive.

But if it was here… now… then they were quite literally sitting ducks. Of course, he had his gun on him but all their interesting weaponry was locked away in the trunk, and Sam was yet to stop complaining about this job long enough to tell him how to actually kill the damn thing. And Dean was trapped in the front passenger side of the car, the only part of the vehicle that seemed to be still touching the ground. He was expecting to hear the scraping of claws on metal at any time now, ragged panting breath.

But _he_ was relatively safe where he was for the time being, because anything making its way in or out of the car would first have to go through a still too groggy looking Sam.

This was not good. Sam hadn't even considered reaching for a weapon. He was resting his head against his open window, but to Dean's eyes, he wasn't so much using the fresh air to calm him as offering his throat to anything that might be standing just outside it. Gun drawn, Dean pulled his brother further back into the car, ignoring Sam's disgruntled protest. He tried to crane around Sam's shoulder to peer cautiously into the world beyond but at this angle the only view he had was of sky. There was no way of knowing where this sucker was… If it was toying with them… What angle it was going to…

"No. Not that. I think it was a fox." Sam ran his hands through his hair again and his guilty agitation suddenly made a little more sense. And Dean was a whole lot less sympathetic.

"What?" Dean's voice was suddenly cold, taking even himself a little by surprise, but Sam seemed to merely nod at it as though confirming something to himself. Dean couldn't be sure but he thought there might even have been a flicker of something close to relief on his face, too, even as it was bracing itself for the inevitable.

"Are you telling me you swerved the car into a ditch to avoid a frigging animal?"

Sam gave the tiniest of nods.

"Are you _insane_?" Dean's volume was making his own head pound, but it was beyond his control now. His car was in a ditch. His. Car. His baby. Who knew what kind of damage she'd sustained? He needed to know. He had to see. Right now.

"Get out."

"Wha.."

"Out! Get out of the car."

At that, Sam seemed to throw off the last of his stupor and hastily opened the driver's door. He was keen to obey since Dean's demeanour had shifted to 'caged tiger' and he looked as though he would soon be ploughing his way _through_ Sam to freedom if his instructions weren't obeyed. Only the car's current angle meant the bottom of the door met the side of the ditch with a soft thud that made Sam freeze, cringe, and close it again, all the while trying to block out the growl of frustration from beside him.

Sam's eyes flicked wildly for a few seconds, trying to decide if it would be safe to crawl into the back to get out through that door as it was higher, or whether the movement would shift the balance of the whole car and get him into even more trouble. Not that there was much he could do at this point that would have increased Dean's anger, short of pulling out a flare gun and deliberately setting the car on fire. They'd both been short with each other for days - barely leaving the car for 72 hours straight would do that to the best of people - and this morning, Dean had lost himself to a 40 minute rant because Sam's breathing was too loud. Like he could hear anything over the sound of the music, but god forbid he suggest that this was the reason his brother couldn't sleep. Finally nodding off only to be awakened by the impact of car and ditch would no doubt cause anyone to get a little cranky; throw in Dean's obsessive relationship with his car and Sam considered himself lucky he was still breathing at all.

Dean didn't seem like he was going to stop his tirade any time soon, so Sam just wound down the window and scrambled out that way. Outside the car he would be able to acquire minimum safe distance. Sitting there he was well within Dean's grabbing and throttling radius.

"Jesus, Sam." Dean riled when he finally laid eyes on his precious car. He looked to be momentarily speechless, which was a relief, although Sam wasn't too sure why he was taking the sight of it by surprise; the cars position had been fairly obvious while they were inside it. They hardly needed visual confirmation to determine she was nose first, angled towards the passenger side in a ditch. Okay, so the small stream of water running along the bottom of the ditch had not been visible from there, and Dean was taking that badly, but on the whole it could have been a lot worse.

Sam joined Dean at the side of the ditch, as close to them both as he dared, absently rubbing his chest where he figured it must have collided with the steering wheel. Dean was now silently assessing the damage to the front of the car. It didn't look too bad to Sam. It wasn't even particularly dented. He'd slammed the breaks on; they hadn't even been going that fast when they'd left the road. He tentatively tried pointing out this bit of good news, but Dean didn't seem to see it in the same light.

"That's not the point Sam. The car's in a ditch. Have you any idea how much it's gonna cost to get her out of there and towed into town? Not to mention any repairs she might need. We've been on the road for days. We're in the middle of nowhere. Unless there's a gang of squirrels around here running a poker game, we have no money. And we can't just leave her in any old garage with all out stuff in the back."

Why did the real world have to come with so many problems? Why couldn't life, for once, be as simple as sitting in the sun drinking lemonade, not having to worry about scrounging the cash or the ingredients to get lemonade in the first place?

"For god's sake, Sam, it was a fox. I'm not saying you should go out of your way to hit them, but when it comes down to a direct choice between it and the car, I think you need to get your priorities straight. This car is all we have. It's pretty much our home. Some weeks we can barely keep gas in her and if anything happened to her out here we would never, never be able to replace her. And I don't just mean the sentimental value. I mean... hell, Sam, Dad gave me this car. Told me to take care of it, damn it… it's one of the only things of his that I…" Dean trailed off, running his hands through his hair, looking like he was not quite sure what to do with them but needed to find something quickly to keep them from punching something. "But if that doesn't mean anything to you, then this should. She's the most valuable possession we have, she is our most important ally, and she should be treated as such."

Dean spared a glance for his brother, who had the good grace to look suitably mollified. He'd been pretty shaken up and Dean doubted he'd done it on purpose, but that wasn't the point. He'd deliberately chosen a fox over the car, whether he'd intended the outcome or not. "I can't believe you hurt my baby," he griped, "It's not like she can defend herself, or hurt you back."

_Yes. Because all that weight in metal ploughing into you at 70 miles an hour would do no damage whatsoever._ But Sam had the sense not to say that

"Where the hell are we?"

"I… what?" The sudden change in direction took Sam momentarily by surprise.

"You were the one driving. Where the hell are we? I need to know where the nearest town is so I can see about calling someone with a tow truck to…"

"It went straight in, and the ditch isn't that deep. We might be able to…"

"You think I'm letting you anywhere _near_ her again Sam, you've got another thing coming."

"I'm only trying…"

"Just drop it, Sam, okay," Dean growled. He wasn't going to have this conversation. He wasn't going to let Sam give him that kicked puppy expression and guilt him into saying it was okay. Because it was _far_ from okay. Until he got the car back on the road and somewhere he could check it out, they had no idea just how un-okay this could turn out to be. Dean fully intended to let Sam stew until he had those answers. Maybe even a little longer.

This week was going to be nice and straight forward. Why did Sam always manage to unintentionally complicate things? This was supposed to be a simple job; this was supposed to be hassle free. And he'd been having such a nice dream… Why did this have to be the reality he woke up to? For once, couldn't Sam have just been smiling and angst free and possibly even baring donuts? Was that too much to ask?

"We passed the turn for­ Willow-Creek about a mile back. There should be a garage there that'll…"

"You better just pray there is. And that I get reception on this damn thing out here," Dean muttered, pulling out his phone. Directory enquiries patched him through to the nearest garage, and after giving their location, Dean secured a promise that someone would be out to meet them within quarter of an hour. That meant 15 tense minutes in which Dean paced like some cornered predator. Sam, in the meantime, sat on the opposite bank, out of Dean's pacing radius, alternately chewing his nails and picking at the grass around him, studiously looking everywhere but at the car or Dean. Occasionally he brought one hand up to rub his steadily bruising chest but lowered it quickly when he sensed Dean staring, not wanting to risk aggravating his brother further with some trivial bruising that had been entirely self-inflicted.

"You okay over there?" Dean asked, somehow managing to sound equally concerned and angry, and Sam smiled inwardly. An outward show he didn't dare. Dean was still mad, but it had also occurred to him that he hadn't actually bothered to check beyond Sam's initial brush off to the question; although to be fair Dean's tone wouldn't have encouraged him to own up if there had been anything wrong.

"Fine. Just bruised." Sam had been slightly worried about Dean's blow to the head, but doubted he could be mounting such a macho display if he were seriously wounded. There was always the worrying possibility he was using his obsession with the car as a means of deflecting attention away from himself, not wanting Sam to see how hurt he really was. Although if Dean was actually injured parading that fact would have upped Sam's guilt, reinforcing the lesson of being nice to the car. Maybe. Sam sighed. Why could Dean never be simple? How could you trust someone so implicitly and yet have to manoeuvre vast minefields of subterfuge to gage genuine emotions?

"Good. 'Cos we don't have the money to patch up both you _and_ the car…" Dean trailed off muttering darkly, and Sam was sure he caught the words 'jackass' and 'priorities' a couple more times before Dean fell silent again and resumed his pacing.

Okay, so he was just mad then, not excessively hurt.

Dean was all smiles and politeness when the tow truck arrived, so Sam felt it safe to venture closer, only Dean turned on him with a glare and warned him to keep his distance and stay where Dean could see him. Between them, the two guys from the garage and Dean managed to get the Impala out of the ditch and back onto the side of the road. They chatted companionably about the car, her until now mint condition, and younger siblings who didn't know a good thing when they saw one, and Sam tried hard not to scowl. Or throw something to remind them he was still there and that the crash had not robbed him of his hearing. He felt bad enough without the prolonged guilt trip, but he was too tired to argue, not that he could really think of anything to say in his own defence. Plus, he didn't want to cause a scene in front of strangers; and they seemed to be managing more then adequately without his help.

With the car back on the road, Dean climbed in and started her up. Besides a gentle rattle, she started first time. Dean offered up something that could have been a prayer and pattered the dash, muttering what sounded suspiciously like 'there, there baby'. It sounded less than fully healthy to Sam, but when Dean glanced his way through the window, he was offering a slight smile, as though his relief momentarily overpowered his anger. Sam took that to mean she had not been wounded beyond repair.

"Want us to take her back to the garage and give her a once over, just to be sure?"

"No, it's okay. But if you could point us in the direction of the nearest motel that'd be great. I'll check her out when we get there to be on the safe side." They really couldn't afford to spend any more money on this detour than was strictly necessary. He had practically rebuilt this thing from scratch, hopefully he would be able to pick up on her signals if there was anything seriously wrong, and he would be able to take care of it himself without handing over any more of his hard earned money.

"Sure thing. Just follow us back into town. You'll hit one in about 5 minutes. I think she'll limp that far easily enough," the second guy said, handing Dean a card and instructing them to give the garage a ring if it turned out they needed anything.

Dean climbed back behind the wheel, glad the car was still running well enough to get them where they needed to be. They could just about afford to pay for the help getting her out of the ditch. A motel might be pushing it, but he needed somewhere quiet to park up and check what was rattling under the hood, and perhaps it was selfish but he would quite like to eat sometime today, too. Maybe an unscheduled stop near civilization didn't have to be purely a bad thing. He could scout the area for any likely moneymaking venues, something he'd been meaning to do for a while, and it would give Sam the opportunity to get online and check out that summoning ritual in more detail, like he'd been complaining about doing for the last 20 hours non stop. Because Dean's research just wasn't good enough. He might not have been a college drop out like his brother, but he was fairly sure he could copy out four paragraphs of text correctly. Latin be damned.

Sam threw Dean furtive glances the whole way into town trying to gauge if he was forgiven yet or not. Dean was done yelling, but he would wait until he'd determined the damage before letting Sam know that. He might have lost his temper but that didn't mean his points hadn't been valid. It they'd lost the car out here they would be majorly screwed, and Sam knew it. The fact he hadn't really argued back but had accepted Dean's thrashing told him Sam knew it. Beside, he just really didn't want to have to talk to his brother right now. That was another added bonus of being forced to stop he supposed; for the first time in three days Sam would not be within poking distance.

They arrived at the nearby motel in uncomfortable silence. Dean made Sam hand over all his remaining cash only to throw caution to the wind and pay with their last card. Maybe he'd give the money back, but he wanted Sam to think of it as a deposit to be returned depending on how successful he was at his next hustling gig.

Following Dean into their room, Sam sank heavily onto his bed, suddenly unaccountably weary. It was barely noon but they'd been driving for days. Being able to stretch out on a bed, even an incredibly lumpy bed, seemed to be the height of luxury right now. He was starting to get a headache, or maybe he was just tired; he couldn't decide if it was bad enough to warrant moving to take something for it.

He stared surreptitiously over at Dean, who was sat on his bed staring blankly at the wall. As long as Sam moved before Dean did, he would probably escape the accusation that he was slacking. He knew he wouldn't be trusted to work on the car, but that didn't mean he was going to spend the afternoon doing nothing. Sam had a mountain of research to finish and the ritual needed preparation; not that he'd been able to mention this without Dean taking it as a personal insult.

Dean had been grumpy for days; Sam had almost been waiting for him to let it all out. Hopefully, Dean would be in a better mood when he had determined that the car was not terminal. Perhaps Sam would offer to wash it or something as a peace offering. He was probably going to be made to anyway; he might as well try and profit from it.

Dean left Sam lounging on the bed with the laptop and various texts, double checking details and ingredients for the night's activities, while he set to work ensuring they still had the transport to get them there. Luckily, the motel forecourt was more or less deserted; he didn't have to worry about avoiding strange looks or keeping himself contained.

The wind was chilly and the thought of Sam, no doubt by now curled under his bedcovers with a warm computer on his knee, possibly even abusing the room's coffee making facilities, was perhaps more irritating than it should have been. He'd been the one to run them off the road, but it was down to Dean to pick up the pieces afterwards. Not that he would have trusted Sam to take care of it even if he had been able to. It was just so cold; Dean's hands were beginning to cramp around his tools. The car was not so much rattling as whining now, and there was no way was he putting up with two whiny bitches for the next two weeks, so he would just have to grin and bear it for a little bit longer.

Sam spied on Dean through the window, grateful for the layer of glass between him and the now howling wind. He'd finished investigating the ritual much sooner than he'd anticipated. He was starting to feel slightly guilty for the amount of time he'd spent complaining about the one Dean had already found – not that he didn't have pretty compelling reasons to want to find his own. So now he was finished and Dean was still out there, giving what appeared to be a thorough check tinkering under the hood. Sam got the impression there hadn't been that much wrong with it, so by the time Dean had been out working in the cold for over an hour, Sam's waning guilt was back at the forefront of his mind. After seeing Dean shiver, he decided it was worth risking his brother's mood.

Dean had finished with the hood and was on his back pulling out bits of twig from the wheel arches when he heard the motel door open and Sam's ginger approach, confirmed by the stripe of denim that completely cut off his light.

"Brought you some coffee," Sam called, "You want me to just leave it here?"

"No, I'm done." Dean crawled out from under the car and accepted the warm drink gratefully, smiling at the way Sam was scuffing his trainers on the floor and avoiding eye contact. He'd just spent the past hour freezing his ass off in the cold so he was feeling less inclined to cut him some slack as he had been, say, an hour ago. But that didn't mean the drink wasn't appreciated.

"It okay?" Sam asked.

"_She's _going to be fine," Dean replied. "This time. But seriously Sam, you need to…"

"I know. I know, it was stupid. I just kind of reacted. It's not like I meant to…" he trailed off with a sigh, not sure if apologising belatedly would be more annoying than not having done it at all. Of course, Sam's first instinct had been to apologise for nearly having killed _them_ rather than the car, but luckily, he'd had the sense to quell that instinct before it had made its way to his mouth.

"I'll give her a proper work over when we're next at Bobby's. I haven't got the stuff here, and quite frankly, it's cold. What about you? Did you find anything different with the ritual? You gonna quit whining about it now?" Dean asked with a half smile.

"Yeah, I found one online that had better wording… What! You're not gonna be the one standing there when this thing suddenly materialises out of nowhere."

"What 'smatter, Sammy, don't you trust me? We won't let anything happen to him will we?" Dean asked, patting the bonnet of the car as they made their way back into the warm.

"Comforting," Sam murmured.

"What? If it goes for you, just shoot it. Problem averted."

"If it was just a matter of finding it and shooting it, I wouldn't have been so concerned. You know we have to…"

"Follow it back to whoever summoned it in the first place. Break the link. I know. But if it picks up on the fact we're following it and doubles back, _then_ am I allowed to shoot it? You never know. You being the defender of the animals and all that," Dean trailed off, muttering through his smile.

"You're not going to be letting go of this any time soon, are you?"

"Now let's see. We now have no money to stay here another night, and nothing to eat but the stale crackers you picked up at that gas station three days ago. The only skittles left are green, and my toes are still numb from the cold, so no. It's gonna take a while."

"You know, if the fox had been possessed I would probably have been less inclined to avoid it."

"If it was possessed, it would probably have done a darn sight more damage to the paintwork than your little emergency stop did."

"There really is no winning with you, is there?"

"You finally catching on to that little brother? And I thought you were smart. So… how long should this ritual take to have any effect?" Dean asked, eyeing up the printouts Sam had scattered across his bed. "You know, this doesn't look that much different from the one I already had," Dean accused.

"It is a little bit," Sam defended. "And I don't know. It depends where it's coming from. This doesn't just make the animal appear from nowhere, but draws it towards the circle."

"So, this is the wusses version?"

"It's got to walk there from wherever it was hanging out before," Sam continued as though Dean hadn't spoken. "So we need to be careful picking a spot. The last thing we need is to draw it through a populated area to reach us. By the sounds of it, these things can be easily distracted. Knowing our luck, we'll be sitting out in the cold waiting for it all night only to find it never showed because it was busy eating a scout group or something."

"So depending on what direction it's coming from, we could count as distractions too?"

"Technically, yeah. But if it makes it to the ritual circle, it should automatically head back home to get more instructions, if our lack of instructions cancel the previous set out."

"If, technically and should. As far as plans go, this really isn't one of our best."

"Hey, it was your plan. I've been saying that for days."

"So it's either risk it materialising right in front of us and having it maul you to death before we realise it's there, or have it get distracted and leave us freezing to death waiting for it to never show? Well, I think I can guess what option you're favouring," Dean finished, slightly accusatory, as though wanting to not be mauled to death was something to be ashamed of.

"If we pick a spot we can see from the car, and leave the car on the road, then we should be able to keep an eye out _and_ stay warm. Odds are it'll be coming from the forest so it won't try to kill the car on the way past," Dean continued, slightly triumphantly.

"You willing to risk that? I am honoured."

"Don't worry. If it comes near my baby, I'll shoot it." Dean smiled.

They spent the remaining daylight hours preparing the necessary ingredients for the summoning ritual, then selecting a spot that was both secluded enough not to risk setting a large enchanted Doberman loose in a populated area, but close enough to civilization that they would be able to track it the distance to its owner, hopefully without alerting it they were there.

"These are large woods," Sam warned, preparing to start his chanting. "When it's not killing for hire, it seems to pretty much have free right to roam. It used to hang around the camp site mostly, while it was still open and there were still people to munch on, but there have been sightings as far away as Brookville."

"What's your point?" Dean muttered impatiently. He was getting a headache without Sam's whittering.

"We have no idea how far away this thing is going to be coming from. We could be in for quite a wait."

"Tell me again why we're not doing the instant hey presto version?"

Sam ignored him and started to read, adding the final touches to the circle as he did so. Despite his own warning, he couldn't help but glance around nervously the instant he was done, as though expecting it to pop put from behind the nearest tree.

They had hovered for over a minute before it occurred to either of them that the intention was to not be seen, and they wordlessly made their way back to the car.

They had placed the circle in a small clearing that was just visible from the car. It was a dark night and the moon was concealed behind the trees. To see the black creature against the shadows, they would have to remain alert for an indefinite period of time.

It didn't take Dean very long at all to decide he was bored. And he couldn't both irritate Sam _and_ keep an eye on the circle.

They'd only been sitting for about 30 minutes when they saw movement. Only Sam did not seem inclined to move.

"It's too small. It's probably just a fox. You should maybe go scare it off."

"Me?"

"You were the one that put a hunk of meat in the centre to attract this thing's attention – like you don't trust me or something – so you can be the one that stops half of Minnesota's wildlife from trashing my circle."

Dean looked out into the cold with a sigh. Although getting to do something active was appealing right now; his feet were beginning to numb again. "Fine. But only because there are no guarantees you wouldn't try and adopt it or something…" Sam rolled his eyes and tuned out his brother's muttering.

Three hours later, Sam was huddled under his jacket, asleep. Dean had had to stalk silently towards the clearing to scare off two more foxes, one stoat, and what he was fairly certain had been a giant cat. And there was still absolutely no sign of their killer dog.

Sam's breathing was deep and even and starting to steam up the window, and Dean had to fight the urge to prod him awake. He'd give Sam another half hour and then he could have his turn as zoo keeper while Dean got some rest. Although he was fairly sure getting up to chase away that last possum was the only thing keeping the frostbite at bay, he was beginning to regret letting Sam talk him into the slow burn approach to this. They knew the thing would be coming; he was fairly sure they could have got out of its way in time.

With a sigh, he reached forwards and flicked on the ignition, careful not to set the car rumbling to life. If he couldn't put music on to keep him awake, he could at least put the heat on for a while, even if it did seem to make the car incredibly stuffy.

The heat was making him sleepy, and the headache he'd forgotten about had returned. He was just about to wake Sam and insist that it was his turn to keep watch when he finally saw it. It looked to be far bigger than the other creatures he'd seen all night, and its movements were purposeful. But Dean knew he would have to be sure. He needed to _see_ it, otherwise they risked spending the night tracking a large wild dog back to its den, and Sam would perhaps not appreciate being woken for that.

Silently he slipped from the car treading the now familiar path to the edge of the clearing, keeping to the trees and shadows downwind of the creature in the circle.

Sam had got it; he saw that now. He had known what they were up against, but despite all the reports they'd heard, or even the autopsy files he'd scanned, Dean had never really appreciated what it was.

He did now.

Sam had _got _it. The beast was huge. He'd been calling it a Doberman because it was big and dog-shaped and violent, and a Doberman was a big dog he'd once had a violent experience with. But this made that breed look like a miniature poodle. It was immense. And from the smell of it, it was definitely dead. He wasn't sure if it had even ever been alive.

He kind of hoped these things didn't exist outside of voodoo magic. Its claws were as long as a normal dog's paw and it had a serious overbite. It was making short work of the remaining meat in the circle, and Dean knew as soon as that was gone, if it was faced with no additional distraction, it would lead them to the person that had summoned it; that so obviously had very little control over their own creation.

He wasn't sure if he even wanted to follow it. Hopefully, it would be big enough to leave a pretty obvious trail. He didn't want to get too close, and he definitely didn't want it to know they were behind it. He suddenly wasn't even sure if riddling it with bullets was actually going to slow it down. He'd been annoyed about the wait, but the idea of this thing appearing in the circle while Sam was still standing next to it adding ginseng root made him feel suddenly nauseous.

Whoever had summoned this creature seriously needed putting a stop to. They had no idea what kind of person they would be going up against, and whoever it was had some limited form of control over the 'dog'. Sam would be furious if Dean left him sleeping to track it alone, but he didn't really want to risk losing it in the time it would take to pry Sam from the car. He didn't want this thing alive and active any longer than was strictly necessary, and finding this thing's master was a definite necessity.

The beast was sure to hear his cell, and that would probably be classed as a distraction. He and Sam had been bickering a _lot_ recently; he supposed three straight days cooped up in the car would do that to anybody. They were used to that by now. Sometimes the close quarters were bonding, sometimes less so, but every now and then they were just a necessary evil. Damage control could and would be done when the job was over. It was all about priorities. Three days of snipping - getting the job done quickly before getting their relationship back on track - was preferable to taking their time and leaving other people to suffer. They both knew that, and had learnt along the way not to take each other's grouching to heart. But even so, Dean had to admit that spending the next few hours alone was very appealing. Just the night air, his own wits, and a giant monster…

But the argument if he left would be worse than any they might have previously had, and he really wasn't sure he could bring this thing down by himself.

With a final glance in its direction, he slipped soundlessly back to the car, grateful that he had thought to provide it with food to keep it occupied. Dean just hoped the meat didn't remind it that it was hungry, and that it hadn't eaten anyone – that they knew of - in about two days. Sam's use of the phrase 'easily distracted' was coming back to haunt him.

So maybe this really was among the worst plans ever.

Sam looked to be still sleeping when he returned. Squatting by the door, Dean was suddenly uncomfortably aware of how good this thing's eyesight probably was, as well as hearing. Luckily, the wind was in his favour, and it looked to be preparing to move on.

He tapped gently on the window by his brother's ear, grinning in anticipation of the way he would start to attention, knowing there would be no way for Sam to vent his irritation and preserve the silence at the same time.

Only, to his annoyance, Sam did not move.

Glancing over his shoulder to make sure they were still doing okay for time, Dean tried again, to the same effect.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." Dean wrenched open the passenger door in frustration. "Rise and shine, sleepy head," he muttered, attention divided between gently shaking his brother's shoulder and checking to make sure the now retreating figure of the dog creature could still be seen in the distance. If he wanted to keep up with it, he really had to leave now, but something about Sam's complete lack of a response had made his blood run cold. He should only have been dozing, and his head should probably not have been dangling from his neck quite that limply. He was beginning to get the sinking suspicion that Sam was not actually sleeping at all.

"Sam. Sam!" He might have been whispering in theory, but with his mouth next to his brother's ear, and each call accompanied by a firm shove, there was no excuse for Sam not to hear him.

It wasn't until the fifth shove that Dean received any kind of response, and by then, he had lost all thought of the dog behind them. It was long gone by now and he could only hope it stayed that way, because Dean's eyes were firmly glued to his brother's face. They had not been communicating well as of late, but he could think of absolutely nothing in his brother's recent behaviour that might explain this sudden burst of unconsciousness.

"Mmmmwh."

"You with me?" Dean didn't know whether that sound provided relief or terrified him.

Dean gripped Sam's face in his hand and turned his brother's head towards him, lightly tapping Sam's cheeks and calling his name again – louder this time. Sam tried weakly to struggle away from his grasp, uncoordinated hands flailing, but the lack of any other response was making it suddenly hard to breath.

Sam's skin was slightly flushed and was clammy to the touch, and coming down with a fever out here in what was beyond the middle of nowhere was the last thing they needed. At least his eyes were finally beginning to flutter open; they lifted incredibly slowly, as though they were locked together with tar, and Sam was literally groaning with the effort of it.

"You in there?"

Sam's eyes were still half mast and were yet to focus, and Dean was unsure whether he was supposed to take the low keening groan his brother issued as a yes or a no. Dean's head was suddenly pounding again in time with his heart. Sam had been brooding and arguing with him less than two hours ago and now he was unable to support his own head. When Dean released it, Sam's chin flopped firmly to his chest, and he issued a noise that clearly meant he intended to go back to sleep again.

"God, come on, Sammy, don't do this to me." His fingers were now searching Sam's neck for a pulse, which was alarmingly sluggish under his touch. Whether it was his tone of voice or searching hands that clued Sam in to the fact he was getting worried Dean couldn't tell, but he seemed to be finally making a concerted effort to wake himself.

"Mmmm 'k."

Sam tried to pull away from Dean's touch but lost all centre of balance, listing away from Dean and off his seat with a high pitched wail of surprise.

Finding himself sprawled across the edge of his seat for no reason seemed to wake Sam up to the fact something was wrong. His head felt thick and heavy; was full of a fog he couldn't think through. He could hear Dean's voice, feel his touch, but they were too far away to respond to. But he was just about awake enough to realise that he had no idea what was going on, only that the fog and the aching nausea were not normal.

"Dean?" If Sam had been more aware, he would probably have been able to censor his voice to sound less worried. As much as he was trying to leaver himself back into a sitting position, his arms just wouldn't support him. Sam's head swam so badly he had to bury his face into the seat beneath him in an effort to still it.

"Sam, come on. I got you." Sam's obvious uncertainty had struck Dean numb, but a small whimper of confusion kick-started him into action. He had no idea what was going on, or what had happened in the minute and a half his brother had been out of his sight, but getting Sam upright and able to focus seemed like a promising place to start.

Dean had to partially climb into the car to reach Sam's shoulders to pry him upwards. The inside of the car was warm and stuffy compared to the fresh night air, and while it might be cold out, he could only hope it would act to clear Sam's head. Dean had been in here less than 20 seconds and already the artificial heat was making his mind muggy.

Sam was upright again, blinking owlishly and clinging onto Dean for support to stop himself toppling over again. All hope of them catching the zombie dog creature was well and truly behind them, but Dean was only prepared to spare it a thought now if it was charging at them. He could probably still track it while its trail was fresh, but he wouldn't leave Sam sitting in the night alone, unable to defend himself.

"I'm gonna get you out, just gimme a sec," he murmured, pushing Sam back into his seat, holding him there for support, reaching for the keys in the ignition, to shut off the engine. And with his face practically next to the heating vent, Dean caught the scent of something else lurking beneath the warm air - the faint acidic smell of burnt wiring. His own headache and Sam's lack of coherence suddenly made a frightening level of sense.

The speed with which Dean threw himself out of the car convinced Sam that he wanted to follow, but he seemed to lack the hand eye coordination required to free his jacket from where it had tangled with his seatbelt clip.

Dean leaned back over to help him. "We have to get you out, can you stand?" Dean said, hating that his voice was suddenly shaking. Gripping Sam's cheek again, he was reassured to see a higher level of awareness in his brother's eyes.

Sam answered his question by slumping forward, resting his forehead against Dean's chest. The prospect of Sam standing was doubtful.

"God, come on. Look at me."

The panic was painful, and it was hard manoeuvring Sam's buckle while his hands were shaking. This was so stupid. Dean had checked the car. He'd _checked_ it. But he'd known he could have done a more thorough job. When he'd wanted to teach Sam a lesson to convince him to take better care of the car, this was really not what he'd had in mind.

"Talk to me."

Just having his head in the car was making Dean dizzy, and his skull was pounding. They'd both sat in here during the drive over, who knew how much of the fumes they'd both inhaled? And he'd kept the damn windows closed because of the cold. They'd probably been breathing it in all night. _Well that explains the headache_. Dean had been darting in and out of the car since this stake out had started, having periodic breaks of fresh air. Sam had been asleep, his breathing deep and even. For perhaps the first time his body's desire for rest had worked against him; he'd inhaled more than Dean would have even if he had never left his seat.

"Sorry. 'm 'k." But Sam could scramble all he wanted; he wasn't going to get anywhere. "I break th' car?" Sam slurred in a small voice that made Dean ache. "Sorry. Didn't mean to…"

Sam was fisting the front of Dean's jacket now, partly to remain upright and partly to look his brother in the eye, searching Dean's much like he was searching Sam's. But while Dean was searching for awareness, Sam was looking to see how badly he'd screwed up. How mad Dean was. But he wouldn't see it. Dean knew he would see only fear and just this once, Dean would let him; he couldn't have contained it if he'd had the time to try.

"It doesn't matter. Don't worry about the car, okay. Worry about you. About getting you out of here, alright. You okay?" Dean prattled, guiding Sam around in his seat. "Sammy, you okay?"

"I'm okay," Sam repeated, sounding stronger, facing Dean with his legs outside the car and his head between his knees, breathing deep the clean air. "Just give me a minute," he requested, sensing Dean's desire to forcibly remove him had only lessened slightly. "W' happened?"

"I think the crash must have jarred the wiring," Dean told him, searching Sam's eyes again and finally breathing out a sigh of relief at the sight of Sam staring back at him. "The fumes must've got in the car. We need to get you out, get you some air, okay?"

Sam might have been beginning to show improvement but Dean suddenly felt drained and light-headed, and he knew it had nothing to do with the toxic exhaust fumes inside his car. He'd been so close to leaving Sam in there. So close to deciding to follow the dog by himself and leaving Sam to sleep. He'd still been annoyed with Sam and relished the idea of leaving him behind. He'd cared enough to leave the heat on, but only just enough to attempt to wake him afterwards.

If that hadn't been the dog they were waiting for… If Dean had decided to linger a little longer in the night air…

Sam was still looking frail. If Dean had left him alone much longer, it wouldn't have mattered when he chose return; the result would have been devastating.

"Yeah. Give me a hand?" Sam asked in a slightly bemused voice, holding out his arms to help Dean heave him to his feet.

They only made it a few staggering steps before Sam's legs refused to hold him, and Dean half lowered, half dropped him to the ground. He would probably have been able to move Sam further away had he not suddenly been overcome by a coughing fit so violent it was almost impossible to hold him.

"Breath through it," Dean instructed, rubbing soothing circles on his brother's back, trying to keep his voice calmer than his thoughts. It was as though Sam's body was suddenly rebelling at the thought of clean air, not seeming to care how much he desperately needed it. He was coughing so badly his eyes were streaming and he was starting to retch. Dean wasn't sure if he could prevent his brain from exploding if Sam actually started to throw up. His brother had seemed more stable before they'd left the car. At least there he hadn't looked quite so blue.

Luckily, the coughing fit subsided before Dean completely lost his cool, and Sam's breaths might have been gasping and uneven, but he was actually _breathing_ again.

"Sam?" Dean whispered tentatively, hand never leaving its place on his brother's back.

"I'm alright. I'm just dizzy," Sam tried to reassure him, sitting unceremonially on the ground with his head in the vicinity of his knees.

"Just breathe deep for a while, Dean ordered, much calmer than he felt. He crouched at Sam's side, still rubbing his back lightly to help sooth away the occasional cough. Sam's whole body was shaking and Dean couldn't tell if it was from the effort of remaining more or less upright, some form of delayed shock, or just a reaction to the cold. Dean wanted to still him, comfort him, warm him, but he didn't want to do anything that might hinder or distract Sam from just breathing. From getting oxygen back into his system. But at least he was trying to now support his own head with a shaky hand.

"Okay?"

Sam nodded and gave a shaky laugh, hand now rubbing his bruised chest with a slight 'ow' noise. His head returned to his knees again, but whether Sam was still groggy or realized what had just happened Dean still couldn't tell. His own panic, while far from gone, had subsided slightly, and now he was no longer required to be active he was starting to feel tired and sick.

Dean had never before been so attuned to his brother's breathing. It was still not as steady or regular as Dean would have liked, but hopefully as Sam's body calmed it would even out with him.

"Just take it easy… you good?" Sam's head was so close to the ground the grass must have been tickling his forehead, and if the way he was leaning to the side was anything to go by his centre of balance had still not returned.

"Just breathe calm… I'm right here… Take your time…" Dean kept his palm resting flat on his brother's back, willing him not to give in to the panic of feeling so helpless, waiting as Sam's breathing levelled out beneath his hand.

"Lie still with me a minute."

He didn't want Sam to feel he had to brush this off. Truth be told, Dean wasn't confident about his own ability to stand. But beside offering time and trying to reassure Sam with his presence there was not much else he could do. No other outlet to channel his worry and frustration into, and the world was beginning to grey around the edges slightly.

Dean could find nothing to say or any action to rectify the situation, so instead he flopped down onto his back on the cool damp grass, trying to let the night air sooth him. He tried to keep the deep black nothingness above him from mocking him with its winking emptiness. If he didn't have to think again for a while that would be great.

Before long, Sam laid down at Dean's shoulder, still coughing half heartedly on occasion, one hand still covering his face as though he, too, couldn't bear to look at the sky. Dean turned to look at Sam but his hand hid him from view. Dean got the impression Sam wasn't quite ready to share what he was thinking just yet; Dean knew for a fact that he wasn't.

Sam didn't stir until he felt Dean fumbling for his phone.

"Who are you calling?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"Ambulance," Dean muttered distractedly, checking the faint glow of the phone's screen for signal. At least they had set up watch in a clearing. "I'm not exactly gonna drive you to the hospital after…"

"I'm okay now," Sam protested. "Really. We don't need to…"

"Yes, we do," Dean replied tonelessly, beginning to dial.

"Dean… we don't … I mean, we can't afford it." He put in meekly, much more aware of the situation. The guilt was coming back in droves. "They're just gonna tell you I'm fi…"

"We can't afford not to, Sam." Dean broke off; halting the glare he was giving his brother as he began to relate their whereabouts through the phone. They would also need to call the garage back and get someone to tow the car back to the motel so Dean could check it out later. Or perhaps he would even take it to a professional, given what his brief once-over had missed.

Sam continued to say nothing once he'd hung up. Dean knew Sam was quiet because he was feeling guilty in a way he had not before; guilt about the car when he had almost died. While Dean was still angry about the accident, when it came right down to it, nothing was more important than Sam.

They were still low on money and a hospital bill would cost them, but they couldn't afford to not go. There were some things he would not be reckless with, would not shrug of and believe he could cure, and this was one of them.

The car was sturdy; for all his care, it had seen a lifetime of misuse and it always bounced back. They had lived in it, slept in it, eaten in it, bled in it, been sick in it, argued, sulked and cried. It had taken them around the country more times than he could count, and no matter what they threw at it - demon driven trucks included - he didn't doubt it always would. If something was wrong with the car and he missed it, it would limp along until it let the problem be known. But Sam was flesh and blood, and a whole lot less likely to complain if something was actually wrong, especially if he was feeling guilty about making the car make him sick to begin with. If he missed something in Sam now…

Dean would not risk a second chance to fix it. He wasn't stupid. He knew this wasn't something to be messed with, and he knew that Sam would never say he was hurting as long as he still believed this whole thing to have been his own fault. Believed that Dean might still be angry with him.

"Just… humour me. Please. You were in there for a while, okay. You still dizzy?"

"No."

"Sam…"

"A little bit," he admitted apologetically. That's when Dean realised that the hand Sam held to his face was perhaps less to keep the real world at bay as it was to try and stop it from spinning around him.

Dean's stomach clenched.

"You need some pure oxygen. That's all. But it's the only way to kick it all out of your bloodstream," Dean said confidently. There was no way Sam was fighting him on this. No way he would be able to.

"You, too."

"What?"

"You were in there too…" Sam said, suddenly realizing the danger his brother was in because of him, and his breathing hitched in a way that made Dean blanch.

"Yeah, but I've got the stamina to not fall asleep as soon as things get a little quiet."

"Sorry."

"I wasn't…" Dean shook his head, realizing joking wasn't the path to take right now.

"You still need to get checked out."

"I know."

"We still can't afford to…"

"We'll manage."

"But…"

"Sam. We'll manage." He could hear the sound of sirens breaking the calm night. They were still a way off. "Not going really isn't an option."

Dean had been mad and he'd yelled, and some of his points had been valid, but in one respect he could not have been more wrong. The car was not the most valuable thing he had. Not by a long shot.

Dean looked to his brother, noting he was starting to nod off again. "Hey, stay awake for me, okay?" Sam obeyed, skirting Dean's eyes as he blinked off the exhaustion. "Talk to me." Dean's voice, laced with concern, was the opposite sentiment to the one he'd been expressing all day.

"You gonna be able to fix the car?"

He was fairly certain he already had.

"It'll survive." But Dean wasn't sure he would ever think of it in the same light again. The car was their home, a quiet place of sanctuary. He was supposed to be able to leave Sam resting there and have the utmost confidence nothing would happen to him. "It survived the scrap heap once; I think it can handle being driven into a ditch."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

"Dean…"

"I don't want to talk about the car, okay!" Sam fell silent. "But you still need to talk to me."

Sam sighed. He'd had a whole lungful of glorious oxygen and Dean smiled.

"Are we lying in the open, feet away from where a giant killer dog creature is due to appear any second?" Sam's tone was curious not worried; Dean had told him to lie here and he wouldn't have done that if it were dangerous. But then, Dean had told him it was safe to sit in the car, too, but that thought hadn't seemed to occur to him.

"It's been and gone. I doubt it'll come back."

"I missed it?" His brother's mind really was a minefield of guilt. Why did Sam have no trouble picking perfectly boring and mindless topics of conversation at all times except when he was asked to?

Sam was sitting up now, watching the ambulance make its way along the rough path towards them. He looked normal, unaffected. Dean allowed himself to breath easy again, but he would not relax completely until he'd had that confirmed by people with actual medical degrees.

"So, what exactly are you going to tell them as to why we were parked on a deserted back road in the middle of the night?" Sam asked him with a smile.

Maybe he was still feeling light-headed, but no question had ever been less important to Dean. The most important thing was the one they were doing right now.

"We'll think of something," he assured, helping Sam to his feet, thinking of their lack of money, the dog still on the loose and the car, broken and abandoned for now in the middle of nowhere with the majority of their possessions and a small arsenal in its trunk.

"We always do."


End file.
